


Nothing Metal Can Stay

by what_a_dork_fish



Series: Cheriks [5]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: Apocalypse
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Multi, Post-X-Men: Apocalypse (2016), When Kindergartners Attack, but you get the idea, dadneto, erik is a teacher, well teaching assistant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-10-23 17:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10724292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Erik comes home.





	1. In Which We See A Mindscape

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at a Cherik multi-chapter fic! Thank you, May, for being literally the greatest beta/coauthor.

“I thought you’d gone for good this time.”

Erik continued looking out the window, at the children playing. “Yes, well,” he said.

Charles came over to him, tilting his head back to smile wryly up at Erik. “Can I interest you in a teaching position?”

Erik snorted and looked down at him. “You’ve been hounding me about that since I helped rebuild the school,” he stated, “And you already know my answer.”

“I continue to have hope.”

Erik’s slight smile faltered, then grew a little. “You always do,” he murmured.

Charles just looked at him for a moment. He hadn’t shaved in a day or so, ginger bristles on his chin and jaw. That was the only change to his face. Besides the extra lines, of course. Running and hiding didn’t suit Erik.

“You wouldn’t have to run.”

It was out before he could stop it, but it was true. The teachers Charles had found had all settled in happily, free to demonstrate to the children, free to practice, free to  _ be _ . Erik would benefit from that.

“I’d be running even if I stayed put,” Erik replied, going back to watching the children.

“Why are you here, Erik?” Charles asked gently.

“…I need your help.”

He blinked, but said nothing. He had learnt immense patience. He would utilize it now.

Erik didn’t need much time; he’d obviously been thinking this through. “I can’t stop it. I can’t stop feeling it. And I can’t make them go away.”

Everything magnetic in the room began to vibrate. Charles wheeled closer and put his hand on Erik’s arm. The vibrations stopped.

“May I?” Charles asked. He always asked with Erik.

“Go ahead,” Erik replied bitterly.

Charles touched his temple with two fingers and entered Erik’s mind.

It was a battlefield. Scars gouged into the surface of his psyche. Barbed wire made of pain, bomb-craters full of memories. The dirt was rust-brown, the sky blood-red. There were still explosions rocking the field where Charles “stood”, but they were far away. He began to walk towards them.

“Don’t go there,” Erik commanded sharply, mentally and aloud. Charles stopped walking. “It’s… not safe.”

Charles turned in a full circle. He was in the calmest area; all around was further pain. And he knew, on this “planet” that was Erik’s mind, the pain was constant and  _ everywhere _ .

He walked to the nearest bomb crater of memory and peered into it. A happy memory, of Erik singing to his daughter. Charles walked to the next. Erik’s wedding. The next. Meeting Magda. The next. Being accepted at the factory. The next.

Chess with Charles.

The next.

Drinking with Charles.

The next.

Their first, and only, kiss.

Charles stopped, and stared. Surely that couldn’t be him. Surely that person with the copper hair, the cobalt-blue eyes, the faint golden glow, surely that wasn’t him. Surely he’d never smiled so wide.

That’s you, Erik whispered, only in his mind. That’s you to me.

Charles didn’t have to see with his physical eyes to know that Erik was looking at him. He walked on to the next crater, and this one… this one he backed away from, averted his eyes to the sky. The blood-red sky, full of smoke and hazed with anger.

Killing Shaw.

It was… hazy. He’d tried to repress it. But there was too much raw emotion in it. Anger. Hatred. Satisfaction. A dull, empty, numb kind of emotion. Charles didn’t have a name for it. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the acrid taste of hatred in the air making his own mind cringe in sympathy. He despised that burning, all-encompassing emotion. It was versatile, like anger; but it was also far closer to the dark side of the human mind. Charles had always despised the feeling, had always tried to root it out of himself before it could grow too deeply.

But Erik… Erik had wrapped himself in it, grown accustomed to it, begun to live in it. He’d carved out pockets for other emotions, but anger and hatred presided.

Charles walked to a new memory. This was Nina, first realizing she could talk to animals. Another; Magda saying she was pregnant, glowing with that same golden nimbus that had been around Charles. He relaxed a little. So it was for those he cared for, not just Charles. That was good to know. Another; when Charles had taught him to turn the satellite dish. Another; lighting the candles with his mother. Charles smiled happily. The glow was so bright around his mother. He’d loved her so much.

Charles knelt and held his hand over the surface of the memory. It was like a puddle in the crater, and as Charles waved his hand over it, slowly, it rippled. Then it sharpened, became clearer, until it was like Charles could reach in and touch a shoulder, a hand, feel the cool metal of the menorah. But he didn’t.

This one? he asked silently. Is this the oldest?

No.

Charles stood (he always marveled at how easy it was to move in the psychic world) and walked on. Erik probably didn’t notice that Charles was slowly, slowly approaching the border of the peaceful area.

More childhood memories, these ones murky with age. Charles could see the bad ones, barely; but the good ones were completely covered in dirt, barely visible except as a slight golden shimmer.

Erik? May I touch them?

Yes.

Charles knelt beside one that shimmered the most, and carefully pressed a fingertip to the edge of the crust of age.

It shattered, the dirt exploding upwards, and Charles found himself staring into a memory of a man who glowed just as much as Erik’s mother, handing him a carved toy.

Vater.

Your father?

Yes.

Charles peered at the memory, entranced as Erik’s mother came into view. It was a birthday present, this toy. His parents were smiling, and Erik was exclaiming delightedly.

“Professor?”

Charles snapped back to himself, blinking, hand falling away from his temple. He turned his wheelchair, his hand still on Erik’s arm, and smiled at the little girl in the doorway. “Shania, hello. What is it?”

Shania eyed Erik warily for a moment, but walked further into the room. When Erik did not move, she rushed over and thrust a colored-pencil drawing at Charles. “I drew you!” she burst out. “I drew Miss Ororo and Miss Raven and Mister McCoy too, but I’m prouder of this one.”

Charles smiled as he took the picture. Shania was only nine, but her ability to make drawings come to life was extraordinary. Charles had taught her how to control it enough that she could create without accidentally bringing her creations to life, and the result had been that everyone in the school now had a drawing of them. Ororo had several. This drawing of Charles was very good and extremely accurate, except for the head. Charles chuckled.

“You gave me hair?” he asked, looking up at her with a soft smile.

She nodded vigorously. “Miss Raven showed me pictures of you,” she explained, “And you had very nice hair. Where’d it all go?”

Charles leaned forward in his chair. “Stress, from dealing with little menaces like you and your friends,” he answered, pulling a face and smiling again as she laughed.

They chatted some more, and then the bell rang for class. Shania kissed Charles’ cheek, waved goodbye to Erik, and vanished out the door, considerately pulling it shut behind her.

Charles sat up and leaned back, sighing. Sometimes he wished he had a child of his own. Then he remembered that he didn’t need one. He had a whole building of them. He grinned and turned his chair back to Erik.

“Are you certain you don’t want to become a teacher? I’m sure Shania would be delighted to draw you,” Charles teased.

“I’m certain,” Erik answered. There was something odd on his face, some emotion that Charles couldn’t fathom. And he refused to try and find out.

So instead he asked, “Will you be staying for supper? You’ve missed lunch.”

Erik shook his head. “I just wanted to see you again,” he lied. Charles didn’t need to read his mind to know that. But the sentiment, even if false, made his chest feel very warm and full. Before he could answer, Erik continued quickly, “To make sure you still didn’t have your hair.”

Charles laughed outright at that, and Erik looked surprised. “Why is everyone obsessed with my hair?” Charles pretended to mourn. “Just because it’s not growing back doesn’t mean I’m any less of myself.”

“No. No, of course it doesn’t,” Erik insisted, as if Charles were serious. Charles blinked. Then he smiled again. He hadn’t had much to smile over lately. And with Erik back, even for just a short time…

“Stay for dinner,” Charles insisted. “We’re not angry anymore. Well, alright,  _ some _ of us are,” he amended at Erik’s sardonic look. “But not all.”

“Meaning you aren’t, but everyone else is.”

Charles sighed. It was true. Except for Ororo and Raven, everyone else was still wary of Erik—of Magneto. And even they wouldn’t be particularly pleased to find out Erik had snuck in.

“How did you get in, anyway?” Charles asked curiously.

Erik smirked. “Your locks are all steel, remember?” he replied dryly. “I fitted them myself.”

Charles chuckled. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” he finally said out loud.

Erik’s smirk softened. “It’s good to see you too.”

The silence between them was friendly, not awkward or anxious. Charles just looked at Erik. Just looked at him. And Erik looked back.

“What are you thinking?” Erik asked softly.

“Nothing much,” Charles admitted. He was thinking how beautiful Erik’s eyes were in the light. It had been like that for their first kiss, too. He’d been admiring Erik, and then…

Erik knelt, then sat, in front of him and pressed his forehead to Charles’ knee, wrapping his hands around Charles’ calf. Not that he could really feel it. But he was too startled to ask what Erik was doing.

“I missed you,” Erik mumbled.

Charles froze, eyes wide.

“After last time, I… I was so ashamed. But I missed you. So much.” Erik took a deep breath and let it out, not moving his head from Charles’ knee. Tentatively, Charles reached forward and put his hand gently on Erik’s head, stroking his hair.

“I missed you too,” he murmured. “I tried to find you. But…”

“You send that electronic mail constantly.”

“You know I can’t ask Hank to track you that way.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Because it was too big of a breach of trust. Charles had always thought, if Erik wanted to come back, he would. If he wanted to be found, he would make himself known to Charles. “Because I didn’t know when next you’d be moving.”

Erik shook his head carefully. “You always were a poor liar,” he muttered.

Charles sighed and stroked his hair again. “Come back up here,” he murmured.

Erik sat up, slowly. He looked so miserable, so in pain… he rose up on his knees and shuffled closer. Charles wrapped his arms around Erik’s shoulders, a little awkwardly, and, surprisingly, Erik let him.

“Stay,” Charles said.

“I can’t,” Erik whispered.

Charles felt a pang of sadness, that grew into a stabbing ache. He pulled back, and tried to keep the unhappy twist from his mouth, as he put his hand on Erik’s cheek. His eyes were still beautiful, grey-blue and so sad.

It stuck in his throat. The three words he’d sworn he’d never say to anyone. They would just hurt Erik even more.

“What are you thinking?” Erik asked again. Both his hands rose to cup Charles’ face. “Charles, what are you thinking?”

“That…”

He couldn’t say it. But he must. He couldn’t. He had to. He took a deep breath—

A knock on the door.

Erik stood and backed away, eyes on the door, while Charles’ remained on him. He realized after a beat that he was still reaching for Erik, and put down his arm.

“Yes?” he called, turning his chair.

“Professor?” The door opened a little, and Ororo poked her head in. “Your next class starts in—“ She saw Erik, and froze.

“I’ll be right there,” Charles assured her hastily. “Uh, could you inform the others that we have a guest? No names, please.”

She nodded, eyes on Erik, and left, closing the door.

Charles sighed and looked up at Erik again. What now?

“I’ll stay here,” he offered quietly. “Call me when you want me.”

Charles couldn’t be happy with that plan, but he nodded and wheeled to the door. Erik stayed to the side of the window. With one last backwards glance, Charles exited the room, locking the door behind him. He was fairly sure that, if anyone tried to get in, Erik would warp the lock. He had so much brute strength, and yet he fine-tuned it so well…

Stop it, Charles. Focus. Erik is not the problem at the moment.

And Charles managed to focus, smiling when the children greeted him, relaxing a little in his chair as he entered the classroom that had once been a sitting room. Now it housed about fifteen children, all chattering eagerly. They hushed respectfully when Charles entered, and when he smiled, counting them all, they grinned back. It always made him happy, that the children respected and liked him.

“Alright, now, where were we? Chapter fourteen, I believe?”

~

Erik sat on the sofa in Charles’ office, bent forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, head bowed.

What had Charles been thinking? It was something he often wondered. The telepath could get in  _ his _ head easily enough--but he couldn’t return the favor.

It had been so strange, feeling Charles rifle around in his memories. He’d gotten too close to old pains, treaded too close to the most dangerous parts of Erik’s mind, and yet he hadn’t recoiled. He’d kept going. It had been so odd, though, feeling his confusion when he’d found the memory of their kiss. What did his image of Erik look like? Was it as… idealistic as Erik’s?

Why had Erik come here, if he hadn’t wanted Charles to help him calm the pain?

He had spent a long time thinking, while on the run. His face was everywhere. No one wanted him anywhere near them, and he didn’t blame them. He hated humans.  _ Hated _ them. Only here, surrounded by no one but mutants, did he feel that hatred abate. He hadn’t known how intense, how all-consuming it had been.

And then Charles had come in, all calm and kind and hopeful, and Erik had wanted to recoil, to hit him, to knock his hand away and leap out the window, for all the good that would do with Charles in his head. He could reach anywhere. Apocalypse had opened both of them to the full extent of their powers; Charles barely needed Cerebro anymore. At least, that’s what Erik had thought.

But to hear that he had searched for Erik and found nothing… Had he even been looking as hard as he could’ve been? Now that was an… interesting thought. Erik rubbed his face with his hands. This was going to be a long wait.

~

Charles was busy all afternoon and part of the evening, but as the children left for dinner, and most of the teachers went to supervise, he received two visitors in his classroom.

“Raven. Hank.” He sighed. “She told you?”

“Just that someone we knew was here,” Hank answered, looking slightly confused and expectant. 

Raven didn’t. She was looking at Charles skeptically. Sometimes he felt that she might be telepathic as well. But that might be because, even after all these years, she still knew him. Mostly.

Charles headed for the door and beckoned for them to follow. They fell in behind him, and the three of them quietly passed through the halls to his office.

_ Erik _ , Charles projected softly,  _ Raven and Hank are with me _ .

_ Fine _ .

Charles opened the door and entered.

Raven and Hank froze in the doorway. Erik stood from where he’d been seated on the sofa, his face devoid of expression. Charles did not let his shoulders slump. He really hated playing moderator for adults, but he would if he had to. With children it was understandable, but…

“You have a lot of nerve,” Raven hissed.

“Raven,” Hank murmured, taking her hand, though he was also wary of Erik.

“Hello to you too,” Erik answered, almost tonelessly. Charles shot him a sharp glance; Erik saw it and some of his defensiveness fell away. Now he just looked tired. He swallowed, and, with only a hint of strain at this “being pleasant” business, said, “How are you?”

“Fine,” Hank replied, just a little sharp. “And you?”

“I’m… well.”

_ No you’re not. _

_ Quiet, Charles _ .

Charles blinked. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d projected that. But he recovered immediately. “This is a lovely reunion,” he said, and sighed. “Hank, would you shut the door, please?”

Hank did so, keeping one eye on Erik. Erik was looking at Charles, though, trying to gauge his possible actions. Well, Charles didn’t know what to say or do either. So the four of them stood or sat in uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

“I’m not staying,” Erik blurted, “If that makes you feel any better.”

Charles did  _ not _ project, this time.

Raven smirked, bitterly. Hank was the one who replied, “Yes, that is a comfort.”

Charles shifted in his chair, trying to be subtle, and immediately all eyes were on him. He did not grimace, though he wanted to. “Erik and I were discussing…” He trailed off, unsure of how to put it into words without giving away more than he should. He looked to Erik, raised a nonexistent eyebrow.

Erik’s mouth twisted, but he said, grudgingly, “I asked for his help.”

Both Hank and Raven snorted, simultaneously. Erik glared, and Charles resisted the urge to rub his temples to ease his burgeoning headache.

“I wanted to tell you that he was here so you wouldn’t--” Charles began, but Raven interrupted.

“You couldn’t just tell us telepathically?” she asked dryly.

Charles resisted a scowl. “I didn’t want to distract you,” he replied shortly. “And would you have believed me without seeing for yourself?”

Hank and Raven both gave him annoyed looks. “Yes,” Raven answered. “You wouldn’t lie to us about this.”

“You wouldn’t lie at all,” Hank added.

Charles sighed. He wished his little ragtag family wasn’t quite so trusting of him. He’d been wrong before, after all. But it was nice. “Alright. Well, I wanted to let you all know one at a time, but--”

“Tell the X-Men first,” Raven advised. “All of them at once.”

“X… men?” Erik repeated. Again, a strange look on his face that Charles didn’t want to decipher.

“Yes. Those who fought with us. They’re still students, but they’re fighters now, too,” Charles explained. “Raven and Hank are training them.” He sighed. “I won’t say your other name.”

Erik nodded. Hank and Raven looked confused. Charles touched his temple and reached out, picking out only those few specific minds who needed to know in the sea of innocent children. Ororo already knew; Jean had sensed Erik when he’d opened the locks, but she hadn’t told. Charles thanked her wordlessly and got a surprised  _ You’re welcome _ back. The others, though, they needed to know.

_ An old friend is visiting. Please refrain from entering my office while he is here. _

_ But what if we really need help with our homework? _ Scott replied, a little desperately.

_ You have friends and teachers for that, _ Charles answered with a small smile.

He got the feeling Scott had sighed.  _ Okay, Professor. _

Charles broke off contact with the children and looked up at Raven, Hank, and Erik. All three seemed to have drawn a little closer, and it definitely felt a little strange. But he wasn’t going to argue.

“Did you still want help?” he asked Erik.

Erik’s mouth twisted, but he nodded.

“I might have to go where it’s dangerous,” Charles warned.

“I’ll control myself,” Erik answered quietly.

“Should we leave?” Hank asked delicately.

“Yes. Tell the other teachers we have a visitor and I am not to be disturbed. If they ask for a name, just say he’s a friend and leave it at that.”

Raven and Hank nodded, and left. Charles reached for his key to lock the door, but the quiet scrape of metal on metal told him that a key wouldn’t be necessary.

“Might as well close the drapes,” Charles said. Erik went over and closed them, then crossed to the light switch and flipped it to ‘on’. “Lay down on the couch. This may take some time. I’ve only ever done it with the children.”

“What are you going to do?” Erik asked warily, but laid down anyway, stiffly. Charles maneuvered his chair to be by Erik’s head. He’d noticed that the closer the proximity, the easier it was to enter and exit someone’s mind. He didn’t dare touch Erik, though. Sometimes it was necessary, most of the time it wasn’t. And he didn’t want to go further into that hellscape than he had to.

“Just look, for now. Maybe drain off some of the pain, if I can.” He wanted to touch Erik’s hair again, but resisted. “Tell me if I go too far.”

And he slipped through Erik’s muddled thoughts and feelings into his mindscape.

He was still in the patch of calm, the patch of good. This time he strode purposefully towards the edge, ignoring Erik’s choked off warning. It seemed to take both a very long time and no time at all to get there. A razor-wire fence was in his way. Charles touched one finger to it, gently, and flinched as it screamed at him in a million voices. But he was used to hearing so much pain. And this was twice removed; Erik’s memories, not Charles’ firsthand experience. He began to climb.

_ Hurts _ , Erik whispered.

_ I know. Just a moment, and I’ll be over it. _

But the fence seemed to grow higher, and higher, and Charles stopped to stare up at it. It grew as he looked.  _ Erik, stop it! _ he thought angrily.  _ I am  _ **_helping_ ** _ you _ .

_ I can’t stop it. _ There was a kind of hopelessness in Erik’s inner voice that made Charles pause.  _ They just keep coming back. _

_ Erik. Listen to me. I want you to think of a good thing, the first good thing that comes to your mind. I want you to hold that image, that word or song or feeling. Can you do that? _

A moment of stillness. Then, softly, he heard the first strains of a lullaby, in a woman’s voice. Slowly, the fence began to collapse. When it was just the right height, Charles swung his legs over it and dropped down in the warzone.

A bomb blast immediately knocked him down, and he wheezed, getting to his hands and knees. Keeping his back to the fence, he looked out at a version of Hell.

Neil Gaiman was right. We all carried a little bit of Hell inside us.

It was even more scarred than the “good” part. Craters and trenches full of screams. Metal shards that shone with malice. The dirt here wasn’t rusty, it was charred. As Charles looked, not very far away, a bomb shrieked as it plummeted down, and the blast threw up a wave of dirt. Dust got in Charles’ mouth and nose, making him cough; it was so  _ real _ here. And he could feel fear. Not just the anger and hate that so enveloped the whole of Erik’s self; a fear of his oppressors, a fear of himself, a fear of other mutants. All this terror, combined with all this anger, created the strongest hate Charles had ever had the misfortune of touching.

It crept under his skin, melted into his bones, made his throat tighten, made him grit his teeth. He let it. He took it into himself, and, quietly, packed it away into the deepest corner of his own mind. There was too much here to siphon away completely, but if he could find the source…

No, that was useless. The source was everywhere. Every mote of dust, every grain of dirt, every shard of metal, it held onto the negativity. He stood, wobbling slightly, and began to walk.

He had a sense that the explosions were coming less often, but that might have been his imagination. He tried to be calm, tried to be as soothing a presence as he could. He was not here to hurt. He was not here to meddle. He was here to observe.

He didn’t know how long he walked before he realized he was going uphill. He blinked, but continued; shouldn’t he have seen this, though? A rise against the horizon? Maybe it was new. A shift in the landscape. Maybe he’d find a bit of hope to foster at the top.

The slope upwards steepened, until his legs were straining in odd places and his feet began to feel funny. He was still amazed at how real it all was. Erik’s mind was the sharpest, clearest one he’d ever visited.

(But hadn’t he visited before? It hadn’t been war-ravaged then; and now that he thought about it, he recalled a pond, nearly choked with algae, and a smattering of grass… but he hadn’t strayed from that. Now he wished he had.)

He reached the top of the slope, and…

_ Oh, Erik, _ he whispered.

Not all of his mind was war and hate and anger. No, this was a desert. Lifeless. Untouched. An Atacama stretching before him. The rise was too steep to simply walk down, and anyway, he didn’t feel like entering this place. It radiated emptiness, mourning, numb despair. He squinted; yes, those shimmers in the sand were metal fragments. So this, too, had once been a battlefield. And now it was empty.

_ Please don’t go there. _ Was Erik actually begging?  _ Please. _

_ I won’t _ , he promised. Then, masochistically, he added,  _ But I need to see how big it is. I’m going to go around it. _

He turned to the left and started walking.

His inner self never got tired. He got bored, though, from the constant tension. So he amused himself by showing Erik happy things. Flashes of sunlight through trees. A puppy, tripping over itself to run to him. Raven laughing as he pushed her on the swing when they were children. A bird singing. Learning Latin. Discovering his calling by reading books, so many books, and giving lectures to his old toys.

(Had the bombs stopped falling for a moment there?)

Kittens mewling and climbing all over him. Chess with Erik on the stone steps. Teaching his first class of X-Men how to control their powers.

(The bombs definitely hesitated.)

He paused, looked between the hate and the despair. He looked down, sighing--

\--And saw a little blade of green between his feet.

He turned, startled. Yes--yes, that was green, little dots of it, for a ways back along his path. Grass.

_ More, _ Erik said softly.

Slowly, Charles began to smile. He thought of other happy things, things he didn’t even know he remembered, and things that were so big he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten the feeling of them. Graduating top of the class. Earning his doctorate. Reading late into the night with a mug of hot chocolate. Meeting new people, faces and names and minds flitting across his. Recruiting with Erik. So many happy things, so many things he’d enjoyed, so many things that had made him see how  _ good _ the world could be.

He wanted to share that. He wanted Erik to remember that not everything was pain and fire and death.

He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, just let the happiness fill him and roll outwards, standing between Erik’s two landscapes. Hope and happiness and the knowledge that there  _ was _ good in this world.

When he opened his eyes, he stood in a little patch of sunshine. A tiny hole had opened in the anger-hazed sky, just enough to let a beam of light in. And when he looked down, there was a riot of grass and roses, pinning his feet and twining around his legs. He laughed, and, carefully, sat down.

_ There is good in you, Erik, _ he insisted, looking up again at the patch of clear blue sky. The roses continued to climb his legs like trellises, their scent making him even happier.  _ Look what can happen when you let the good in. _

_ I get grass? _ Erik inquired wryly.

_ Yes. And flowers. And whatever makes life bearable for you. _ He leaned back on his hands and smiled as he felt rose vines wrap around his arms.  _ You get  _ **_life_ ** _ , Erik. _


	2. In Which A Wild Dadneto Appears

Erik opened his eyes and felt… calm.

He turned his head and saw Charles, who smiled at him. He looked a little tired, but ultimately alright. “I hope I didn’t break anything,” he said lightly.

“No,” Erik answered slowly, “You didn’t. How… I could  _ see _ it. It wasn’t like that before. I could  _ see _ everything. And you had  _ hair _ .”

Charles scowled. “Always comes back to the hair,” he muttered, but smiled again. He seemed very pleased. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Erik propped himself up on his elbows. He felt a little dizzy at first, but that faded quickly. “What did you do?” he asked, turning to Charles again.

Charles shrugged. “I looked around.” His mouth grew tight, and his eyes were sad, but he didn’t say anything about the state of Erik’s mind. “And shared some memories with you. That’s all.”

“Your memories are nicer than mine,” Erik muttered bitterly, and almost knocked away the hand that settled lightly on his shoulder.

“We’ve led very different lives,” Charles replied gently. “And I am so sorry that you had to go through so much.” There was no pity in his voice or on his face, only sorrow. He truly was sorry. Erik had the feeling that if Charles could’ve helped him, he would have. But he couldn’t help, except to ease the pain that was already there.

Erik hesitated, then covered Charles’ hand with his for a moment. “How long has it been since Apocalypse?” he murmured. “A year?”

“To the day.” The silent ‘don’t pretend you didn’t know’ didn’t need to be spoken aloud or mentally. “We’re going to hold a vigil, those who were there and I. It is partly my fault that--”

“No.” Erik’s grip on Charles’ hand tightened. “Don’t you  _ dare _ blame yourself.”

Charles sighed instead of arguing. That was… not what Erik was expecting. Instead, he said, “Would you like to join us? It won’t be much. We’ll just be out on the porch.”

“And  _ you _ will be doing something.”

Charles hesitated, looking down. “I was going to see if I could find more mutants without Cerebro,” he admitted quietly. “It’s… easier to just use it. But I want to see how far I can go.”

Erik nodded, let go of his hand. “I’ll join you.”

~

The children were all in bed when they gathered on the back porch. Everyone except Hank and Raven kept away from Erik, eyeing him warily; Hank and Raven only got close because Raven came up beside Charles and put her hand on his shoulder. Erik, standing at his other side, shifted slightly, but kept his hands behind his back.

Charles wanted to tell everyone not to worry, that they were all among friends here--but that wasn’t necessarily true. So instead he touched his temple with two fingers. He didn’t need to. He didn’t need to concentrate that hard anymore, hadn’t for a while. But it was habit, and it let everyone know what he was doing.

His mind stretched out cautiously, noticing first those closest to him. Raven, fine-tuned and honed; Hank, cleverly cluttered; Ororo, all contained whirlwinds and lightning bolts; Kurt, flashing from thought to thought; Scott, foggy with tiredness but still determined; Jean, tentatively reaching back; Erik, and his barbed thoughts.

_ Professor, what are you doing? _ Jean asked.

_ Experimenting. _

And he let himself go.

It was--amazing. It was like with Cerebro, only--not as controlled. Not as moderated. For a few moments, he was awash with emotions and thoughts and mindscapes and it was amazing because he was there, in all of them somehow, the lightest touch, the barest brush, invisible, but  _ there _ \--

And then suddenly he was nine years old again and his head was too full and he knew that screaming wouldn’t help the pressure in his chest and the millions became billions and he shut his eyes and wrenched back into his own mind, the safety of his own skull.

He was breathing hard and when he looked up everyone was gathered around, too close, too close--Raven seemed to guess this, because she waved everyone back a few steps, herself included. But Erik didn’t move back.

“I’m--fine,” Charles gasped. “I’m fine. Just… that was a little much at one time.”

“Are you going to try again?” Erik asked, his tone and expression clearly saying that Charles should not  _ dare _ to do so.

“Yes,” Charles answered him firmly, and closed his eyes again.

“Charles--!”

But he was already away.

He went more slowly this time. Mutants burned brightly to his “sight”; humans were simply dull stars in the night that was the psychic world. He found three mutants close by the school, sound asleep. He crept outwards, and found more. There was a strangely high concentration of mutants here; maybe they moved here because it was safer. Word had got around in the mutant population; there was a school just for them, a place their children could learn in safety, could find help with their powers. And it was a good school. No one graduated from here, though. That would mean becoming visible. Everyone transferred in their last year to a nearby high school to get their diplomas, or earlier, if they’d learned proper control. Some students refused to leave until they had to. It made Charles very happy.

Enough lingering. He moved on.

Not much time passed in the “real world”, perhaps a minute. But Charles reached the whole country, brushing against mind after mind, finding mutants, knowing where they were in relation to each other--but he could get no definite coordinates. That was what made Cerebro so invaluable, he supposed. He’d never be able to pinpoint any of these people on his own; it would take too much--

“Charles!”

He blinked, mind snapping back into his own head. “Hm? Yes?”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Raven asked.

“Oh, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular,” he told her, surprised. “I was just experimenting. Although, it seems we have a guest attempting to pick the lock on my office window.”

Erik’s head snapped up in the direction of Charles’ office, and his eyes narrowed for a moment. Then he announced, “They won’t be getting in now.”

Charles sighed heavily. “Erik, if you’ve broken my window…”

“Not the window. Their lockpicks.”

“What if they--” Scott began, and was interrupted by a faint crash.

“Kurt, could you go fetch our guest, please?” Charles asked.

Kurt vanished in a puff of smoke, and then returned with his arms wrapped tightly around someone dressed and masked in black, who squirmed and fought until they realized they were surrounded and not where they were supposed to be. Then they froze.

Charles frowned and peered into their mind. Then he leaned back in his chair. “A common burglar, looking for my important papers, sent by the CIA. Well. That’s concerning.”

“Someone got...  _ her _ to talk?” Hank asked.

“I don’t think so,” Charles answered slowly, meeting and holding the burglar’s gaze. Carefully, his insinuated himself into their--her--head, and made her sleep. She slumped in Kurt’s hold; he hastily laid her down on the porch instead of having her fall out of his hold. “There. She won’t wake up until I tell her to. Erik, could you…?”

Erik was already waving his hand in her general direction. There was an electrical spark at her chest, and Erik added, almost in a monotone, “There’s something in her ear. Take it out before I break it or she’ll lose the eardrum.”

Kurt dropped to his knees and carefully extracted a small, flesh-colored plug. Erik reached out--

“Stop, please,” Hank said suddenly, and swooped down to steal it from Kurt. “I’d like to take this to my lab.”

Erik gave him an annoyed look, but nodded and let his hand drop. Hank didn’t see the look or the nod, inspecting the little plug. Charles almost smiled. So much for a silent vigil.

Not that he’d even asked the others to be here. He’d been planning on doing it alone. But Raven had insisted on joining him,  and then Hank had, and then Jean, Ororo, Scott, and Kurt had overheard and demanded to be part of it too. Charles would’ve preferred to do this alone. Then he could have cried for the lives lost in Cairo, for the people whose minds he’d taken over to launch the missiles, for his poor children, forced to be fighters when they could have been anything.

He leaned his head back and looked up at the sky. Stars. All those minds, all those powers, like the brightest of stars.

He woke the burglar and let her run away.

The children went to bed at 2AM. They had classes the next day, after all. Hank went as well, since he was teaching. Raven stubbornly stuck by Charles’ side--but at 5AM, she sighed and went back inside, resting her hand on Charles’ shoulder for a moment before going in.

Erik suddenly sat on the porch beside Charles and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Do you have to teach today?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Charles replied softly. “I can stay awake, though.”

They were silent together. Charles let a few tears slip loose, but Erik couldn’t see. Charles felt… cold. Not in the physical sense, because it was actually quite a pleasant night. But inside, in his chest and stomach and deep in the bones he could still feel, he was so cold.

He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. Progress with accepting mutants had slowed almost to a standstill. He still wrote dissertations and papers and articles about how mutants and humans could live in peace, because they really weren’t all that different when you got down to it, and it seemed he was getting somewhere in the scientific community. He’d stopped getting quite so many letters threatening him and what family he had left.

It was the general populace who needed convincing. Messages about mutants had been mixed. Politicians were torn. “Experts” argued about whether dissection was humane or not. People who hated mutants with a burning passion sometimes found themselves with mutant children. (Those were the ones Charles tried hardest to get, because so often the child’s family would try to force their child to be “normal”.) And mutants living in fear for their lives hated themselves so intensely that they’d do anything, any treatment, any procedure, to be human. Not that any treatment or procedure worked. All such things did was out mutants to their doctors.

Sometimes… sometimes Charles shared Erik’s rage.

He shivered again, harder, rubbing his arms. But Erik wasn’t as afraid as Charles. Erik had lost so much, had given up on hope, he didn’t know that kind of fear anymore. Maybe Charles had shown him a glimpse of what hope and happiness could do, but Charles did not believe that that glimpse would last.

“You’re cold.”

“Not really,” Charles answered absently, still thinking. He wasn’t paying attention, and that was why he jumped when Erik’s jacket was settled around his shoulders.  He turned his head to stare; Erik was on his knees, tucking his jacket in around Charles. He wouldn’t meet Charles’ eyes. 

“I would like that job,” he said stiffly.

“...You want to teach here?”

“Yes.”

Charles began to smile. “Well. For the older ones, you’d need a certificate, and college, and training.”

“And the younger ones?” Erik met Charles’ eyes, and there was so much pain… but maybe… maybe there was hope too.

Charles laid his hand gently on Erik’s cheek. “How does teaching assistant sound?”

~

At six, they broke their vigil. Charles removed the jacket draped over his shoulders and returned it; Erik folded it over his arm instead of putting it back on.

Someone had already been to his office; probably Glenn. He could work glass without heating it. Raven had probably woken him up and asked him to fix the window, since it was now whole and clean. Charles went to his desk and rifled through his drawers, making sure nothing was missing as he searched for the appropriate paperwork. Once he had it, he slid the papers and a pen towards Erik, who had pulled up one of the two chairs.

“Read and sign, please,” he ordered, “And while you’re doing that I’ll let Miss Johnson know that you’ll be joining her today. She’s in charge of the kindergarteners.”

Erik nodded and started reading, adding his signature and information. Charles reached out to Claire, who was brushing her teeth, and warned her that he would be coming by with an assistant for her before class started.

_ Are they cute? _ she teased. She was a mild telepath, but her true power was singing. A rarity, to have two powers, even if they were “small”.

_ You shall have to decide that for yourself, _ Charles replied to her, amused. Erik wasn’t cute. He wasn’t anywhere near cute. But he had a certain stoic charm about him. If he smiled more he’d be beautiful. But that wasn’t who Erik was. So Charles did not entertain the notion very long.

Erik finished the papers. Charles signed off on them, and then he stapled and filed them away. “Alright. Let’s introduce you.”

The building was mostly silent, except for the faint steps and rustles and whispers of the teachers preparing for the day. Charles led the way through, his wheelchair making absolutely no noise, Erik’s shoes tapping quietly on the wooden floors.

They made it to the kindergarten room, where Claire was setting up, humming to herself. She looked up when Charles rapped lightly on the open door, and smiled at him--and then her eyes fell on Erik, and her smile shrank considerably.

“Claire Johnson, this is Erik Lehnsherr,” Charles introduced calmly, sending her a bit of reassurance. “Erik, this is Miss Johnson, our kindergarten teacher.”

“How do you do,” Erik said, holding out his hand to shake. She took it, with a murmured “how do you do”. Then she turned to Charles.

_ Is he safe? _

_ To have around children? Yes. He’s completely safe. _ Charles smiled reassuringly, and asked, “Shall I leave you two to discuss your duties? I have to get ready for my classes as well.”

“Yes, that’ll be alright,” Claire answered with some of her usual cheer. Not all, but that was to be expected. Charles nodded to them both and left, heading for the lift that would take him to the floor where his rooms were.

Usually Hank would help him dress or undress, but there wasn’t time for that. So Charles did so himself, albeit with a little undignified wriggling. Then again, it was undignified to have help, as well. Then he wheeled into the bathroom (rebuilt to be more wheelchair-accessible, bless Erik and Jean’s hearts) and went through his usual morning routine.

Feeling more like himself after a shower and a shave (somehow losing all the hair on his head had not meant losing all the hair on his chin), he dressed and headed out again.

He was only a little late to breakfast. Only a little. He always had breakfast with the children, because  _ someone _ had to supervise, even with the rotating schedule of which teachers would be there to help. Charles was also the only one who could truly sense when trouble was brewing between sleepy children and teenagers, and they respected him. Usually.

Shania came up to him as he was munching toast and showed him another drawing. This one was of Erik, and it was amazingly accurate, as always.

“Is it okay that I drew him?” she whispered.

Charles smiled. “Yes,” he murmured back. “He’s with Miss Johnson, if you’d like to go give it to him.”

Shania’s face lit up, and she nodded vigorously, before hugging Charles and walking quickly away (she never ran inside, which was more than could be said of certain other children).

“Professor!” A teen girl appeared across the table from him, looking very distressed. “Professor, I need your help, yesterday Caroline said I kissed Zach and it’s not  _ true _ !”

“Alright, Matilda, tell me what happened, from the top.”

After Matilda was comforted and Caroline and Zach were asked to wait for Charles after breakfast, Charles heard a giggle beside him. He smiled down at what seemed like empty air. “Now, James, what did I say about sneaking under tables?”

“Didn’t go under the table,” the eight-year-old answered as he became visible. “Went around. Also Caroline was the one who kissed Zach, only Zach didn’t like it.”

“Tattletale,” Charles accused playfully.

“You know I’m right,” James answered, and giggled again as Charles reached down and tickled his side in response.

“I won’t know until I talk to them. Go finish your breakfast.”

When the bell rang for class, Caroline and Zach came up to Charles, the former tense, the latter drooping.  He put his chin in his hand and eyed them both.

“Would you like to tell me what happened that made you try to convince Matilda that she’d kissed Zach?” he asked mildly.

The two teens before him glanced at each other, then both of them looked at the floor. Charles sighed. “I heard it from a little birdy that it was--”

“It was my fault, Professor, I’m very sorry,” Zach blurted. “I told Caroline I liked her.”

Charles’ nonexistent eyebrows rose. “I see,” he said slowly.

“And he  _ actually _ likes Matilda,” Caroline grumbled.

“So you tried to use your Persuasion--which, as I have told you, is  _ very dangerous _ \--to try and convince Matilda, whose power is to block others, that she had been the one to kiss him. Can you walk me through your thinking? Both of you, since I know you were in on it, Zach.”

“Can’t you just look in our heads and get it over with?” Zach whined.

Charles frowned at him, and he looked at his shoes, ashamed. Everyone knew that Professor X only looked in people’s heads when it was absolutely necessary. “This may seem of vital importance to  _ you _ , but it really isn’t. So. Tell me.”

Grudgingly, they did. Charles sorted it out and told them that they would be on dish duty for a week (all the children took turns helping with chores, though he did hire a mutant-friendly cleaning service occasionally), then sent them to class, warning their teachers ahead of time. Then he went to his own classroom.

He loved teaching, he really did. He loved his students, even the ones who hated his class. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t enjoy books as much as he did, though he tried to choose ones that would be enjoyable, or at least tolerable. He regularly had his students give him lists of books they’d like to read. The library was becoming overrun with books that  _ he _ found mind-numbing, but his students ate up with shining eyes. Well, as long as they were reading.

“Hello, everyone,” he greeted them all as he entered the room, “How are--what’s going on?”

Because everyone was crowded around the window, whispering to each other. They all turned to look at him, guilt on all their faces to varying degrees, before slowly parting to allow him to see outside.

Miss Johnson and Erik were outside on the lawn. Well, Miss Johnson was standing with her arms crossed, and Erik was lying on the ground on his back, feet and arms straight up in the air, holding up one of the kindergartners, who was laughing. The others ran around playing a strange game of tag with rules of their own devising. Charles reached out mentally carefully, tilting his head sideways a little. A quick brush against their minds made him blink. Claire was reluctantly amused, the children were gleeful, and Erik…

“Who is he?” Jubilee asked.

“The new teaching assistant,” Charles answered, beginning to smile a little. “It seems he’s having a good first day. Alright, everyone, to your seats, please.”

~

Erik wasn’t necessarily happy, but… he was feeling better than he had in a while.

Nina haunted him, in every smile, in every shriek, in every laugh; but it was a good haunted. He could remember her as she was, happy and having fun. Even if none of these children could talk to animals.

The morning was spent outside, and while it had started with everyone sitting in a circle and Miss Johnson trying to teach the children how to meditate (because it was actually very important for the ones with telepathic powers, and it wouldn’t hurt the others to try), they had quickly gotten bored. And then one little girl had turned to Erik, who was sitting across from Miss Johnson, looked him up and down, and asked, “Can you do the airplane ride?”

“Airplane ride?” Erik repeated, surprised and a little confused.

“Yeah. My daddy did it all the time. You lift someone with your feet, like this.” She promptly fell over on her back and stuck her feet in the air. It was good she was wearing jeans.

“Oh, that.” Yes, he’d done it with Nina a few times, only she had called it the flying game. “Yes, I can do that.”

The little girl immediately stood. “Airplane ride!”

“No, Georgina,” Miss Johnson sighed, “Not--”

But Erik had already lain back, kicked off his shoes, and was lifting Georgina into the air, holding her hands, and smiling as she laughed. Huh. He hadn’t smiled in a long time.

Then all the children jumped up and started talking at once, also demanding airplane rides, including the boy with butterfly wings. Erik felt something very warm in his chest, as he carefully set Georgina down and lifted another child into the air. His back and legs began to protest, but he ignored them.

After everyone had been given a short airplane ride, he turned his head a little to see Miss Johnson standing over him, arms crossed. She looked to be fighting a smile.

“Well, now that’s ruined,” she commented.

Erik started to sit up, but then Georgina ran up to him again and ordered, “One more airplane ride!” He obediently laid back and lifted her into the air, smiling again as she laughed.

Somehow, Miss Johnson got all the children corralled, and they showed off their powers for Erik. He was surprised by the variety, and how utterly dangerous some of these children were. No wonder they were here.

“What can  _ you _ do, Mister Erik?” one child asked, tugging his sleeve. In response, he made her necklace hover. It was just nickel, with a little bit of steel. She shrieked in glee and grabbed it. “You’re telek--k--k--”

“Telekinetic,” Erik offered gently. “Yes and no.”

“What does  _ that _ mean?” demanded one of the other children. “Yes and no?”

“It means I’d rather not talk about it,” Erik replied, still calm. He’d had similar conversations many times with Nina. “It’s a secret.”

The children oohed, their eyes widening.

“You don’t have to be secret here,” urged the boy with butterfly wings. “Professor X said no one needs to be secret.”

Well that was a new one, and it stumped him. He settled for, “That doesn’t mean I  _ can’t _ keep it secret.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

The children gazed at him solemnly, but before any more questions could be asked, Miss Johnson said, “I think it’s time to go back inside.”

The children groaned, but scampered across the grass to the school. Erik stood, brushed himself off, and followed. Miss Johnson walked ahead of him, glancing back often. Erik pretended to be too deep in thought to notice.

He couldn’t pretend when the children saw the schedule on the board, looked at the clock, and squealed in unison, “STORY-TIME, STORY-TIME, STORY-TIME!” Then he smiled again, a very small smile, and waited for Miss Johnson to either tell them no or sit down and read to them.

But then Georgina and Gabriella’s eyes lit on Erik, and he felt his defenses crumbling even before they ran up to him, grabbed his hands, and dragged him to the story circle.

“Read to us! Read to us!”

One of the children thrust a book into his hands, and he sat down in the chair and opened it. The children gathered around, looking up at him with shining eyes. Nina would have loved to be part of this group.

Erik began to read. “Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter. They lived with their mother in a sandbank under the root of a very big fir-tree…”

~

Charles was ready to sleep in his chair by the time lunch came around. But he didn’t. He stubbornly drank the most caffeinated tea they had, and kept his eyes open by sheer willpower. Lunch was got through with the help of Erik appearing, carrying two of the kindergarteners and followed by the others, because the sight was so adorable that Charles couldn’t help smiling.

Erik glanced at him and away, putting his burdens down carefully. Then he cautiously walked over to Charles.

“Stop smirking, Charles,” Erik greeted him bluntly, “You look like you just stole one of Hank’s inventions.”

Charles smiled wider. “I don’t “steal”, I borrow,” he retorted. “Sit.”

Erik did so, rubbing his shoulder. “Haven’t carried anyone like that in a year,” he muttered. Charles did not comment on that, simply pushed a dish of peas towards him.

There was no set seating arrangement, other than teachers eating at one table and the students feasting at four others. Lunches were done in turns, A and B, and this year Charles took A-lunch. It seemed Miss Johnson’s class, and Erik too, had A-lunch.

Erik seemed bewildered when Charles kept nudging bowls and dishes of food towards him, as he filled his plate.

_ Eat. You’re going to need your strength, dealing with the little ones. _

_ Miss Johnson said I could nap with them. _

_ Lucky you. Still. Eat. _

The corner of Erik’s mouth quivered, like it wanted to rise into a smirk, but it didn’t. He simply picked up his fork and began eating.

Charles still counted that quiver as a win.


	3. In Which There Is Much Muttering On Hank's Part

The afternoon went by quite quickly. Charles enjoyed it, until the last class ended and he realized he _needed_ to sleep. Tea and willpower weren’t going to get him very much farther. So he went to his office, closed and locked the door, and went over to the couch. It took a bit of maneuvering, but eventually he got himself situated, laid back, and closed his eyes.

He immediately fell asleep.

He was awakened because someone was kneeling beside him. Registering it as Erik, he smiled sleepily and closed his eyes again. Of course Erik could get in. The locks were steel.

“Charles?”

“Yes?” he mumbled.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Erik asked softly.

Charles frowned a little and opened his eyes again. It was hard to see Erik’s face in the shadows; the curtains were still drawn, and the door was closed. No light could get in except through the cracks. “You’re my friend,” he replied. “Why should I be afraid of you?”

Silence. Then Erik said stiffly, “There are students outside who want to talk to you. Shall I tell them to go away?”

Charles sighed. “No. No, I’ll see them.” He felt a little foggy, but that was quickly fading. “Help me up, please.”

Erik slid his arm under Charles’ knees, wrapped his other around Charles’ back, and lifted him effortlessly, turning a little to set him in his wheelchair.

“How do you do that?” Charles asked curiously.

“I still train, a little,” Erik replied, his tone still stiff and foreboding.  Charles nodded and didn’t pry. Instead he went behind his desk, and when he was settled, Erik opened the door and made way for the tumble of youngsters.

Charles smiled, recognizing the group he was fostering, all taken from the same abusive foster home. Three girls and two boys, all of different ages, all prone to lashing out when they felt threatened or angry; but they were making progress. They seemed to behave for Charles, at the very least. Maybe it was because he was completely unthreatening.

“Mr. Xavier, who’s he?” Jenny asked bluntly, pointing back at Erik, who was just about to slip out. Erik froze, and Charles smiled. It would be good to get some rumors settled with these children, the ones closest to him, so the others wouldn’t doubt.

“An old friend,” he answered. “We knew each other when we were young.”

“Mid-twenties isn’t young,” Erik felt the need to point out for some reason Charles couldn’t fathom. Charles couldn’t even glare at him, because any show of temper seemed to put Caleb on edge, and his power to cause electrical storms was extremely sensitive.

“Maybe not to you,” Charles replied, “but for me it is. We had differences in opinions that caused us to go our separate ways,” he explained to the children. Which was definitely putting it mildly, but they didn’t need to know that.

They nodded, and Erik slipped out.

Charles spent the next two hours listening to the children. Not that he minded. Caleb, who was six, told them all about Mr. Erik, who was The Best besides Miss Johnson because he gave airplane rides and read books and napped with the little kids. Charles smiled at that. He’d thought he’d felt Erik relaxing a little, when he checked on him and the little ones around mid-afternoon. Jenny, age nine, showed them all the picture she and Shania had drawn together, of the school and the children all around it. Shania had let her keep it because the walls of her room were already full. Tim, seven, told them about the science experiment that Mr. McCoy had showed them that went spectacularly wrong (“spectacular” was Tim’s word of the week). Mya, eleven, talked about the paper she’d written for English class. And Cynthia, fourteen, didn’t say anything. Charles suspected she was selectively mute, but he wasn’t going to test her tentative trust by attempting to play psychiatrist. Even if he did have a PhD.

It had been seven months. He’d stopped asking them to come in and tell him if they were settling in well or if there was a problem that needed to be resolved quickly, but they still came, every other Wednesday. He wondered if having a routine was helpful for them.

Finally, they exhausted their stories, and left. Caleb climbed into Charles’ lap to hug him, then jumped down and followed his “siblings” out of the office. All of them said a polite goodbye at the door, and he returned the sentiment just as politely. Then they left. Charles wanted to take another nap… but he had work to do. So he sighed and returned to it.

It was eight o’clock when he caught himself yawning. He closed his eyes just for a moment…

And was woken by Raven shaking his shoulder gently. “Charles? Charles, if you’re going to sleep, shouldn’t you do so in bed?” Raven asked wryly.

“Oh… was I sleeping?” Charles asked, yawning widely. “I was just resting my eyes…”

“Come on, you need to go to bed.”

He grumbled a little, but allowed Raven to shoo him out of his own office. Then she followed him upstairs (he had a secret elevator put in that wasn’t really a secret anymore, not with so many inquisitive children playing hide-and-seek during weekends and after classes) and told him, “Erik said he’s staying.”

“Oh, yes.” Charles yawned behind his hand. “Do we have room for him?”

“Yes. He’s… we had to put him on the second to top floor, with you.”

“That’s alright, then.”

He noticed her silence, but didn’t really interpret it as anything other than having nothing more to say.

When they stepped or wheeled out into the hall, they saw Erik and Hank having a fierce, whispered conversation in the middle of the hall. They stopped when they saw Raven and Charles, and, after one last glare, Hank stomped away from Erik and towards his girlfriend and her brother.

“He’s fine now,” he told them stiffly. “Professor, will you be needing any help?”

“No, thank you, I’ll be fine,” Charles answered with a small smile. He could easily have just read their minds to find out what they’d been discussing, but he found that he didn’t really care. He just wanted to sleep.

So Hank and Raven headed for the stairs, and Charles headed for bed. Erik was still standing in the hall, brooding at nothing in particular.

“Something wrong?” Charles asked as he unlocked his door.

“Why am I here?” Erik retorted. “Why am I the only teacher on this floor?”

“Because there was no other space.” Charles entered his rooms, passing through the outer one to the bedroom, and wasn’t really surprised when Erik followed him. “This is overflow. And the children who might need me most in the night. But they’re fewer now.” He shrugged out of his jacket, and was surprised when Erik took it and hung it up for him.

“They put me in a suite.”

“Yes.” Charles took off his shirt, and Erik took that too, putting in the hamper.

“None of the others on this floor have that.”

“No.” The trousers were always difficult. Erik came around behind him, put his hands on either side of Charles’ ribcage, and lifted him just enough for Charles to wriggle free. Then it was just a matter of getting unresponsive limbs to cooperate enough to get them the rest of the way, too. Erik helped with that as well, and put the trousers in the hamper.

“They hate me.”

Charles sighed and levered himself up on the bed. “They don’t hate you.”

“They do.” Erik brooded down at _him_ , now. “Hank warned me not to come near you.”

Charles snorted. “If he thinks I can’t take care of myself, he is sadly mistaken,” he replied dryly, grabbing his sleep-clothes off the middle of the bed and starting to put them on. “Bugger. Forgot to go to the bathroom.”

Erik watched him put on his sleep-shirt, then suddenly stepped forward and picked him up, one arm under his knees, the other around his back. Charles clung to him out of reflex and let out a little “eep!”

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the bathroom,” Erik replied, heading for the ensuite.

“I can just use the chair--”

“This way is faster.”

Charles huffed and rolled his eyes, and wondered if there was anything as embarrassing as being carried. Well, there was being fed, of course, but that wasn’t inherently embarrassing. And now that he thought about it, neither was being carried. But both were blows to one’s ego.

Too late for thinking, they were in the ensuite, and now Erik hesitated.

“Just set me down on the toilet,” Charles sighed, “I’ll take it from there.”

Erik nodded and did so, then left and closed the door.

Charles just sat for a moment, thinking. Then he sighed again and got on with it. When he was done, he gave Erik a mental tap on the shoulder, and Erik opened the door and picked him up again.

“I have to wash my hands, I’m not an animal,” Charles pointed out, amused and irritated. Damn. He really should’ve gone to bed an hour ago. Erik hesitated, looking torn… then suddenly he knelt, and hefted Charles up so he was at the same height as he would be in his chair. Charles surprised himself with a laugh.

Hands were washed. An elbow bonked Erik’s head, but he didn’t complain. When Charles had dried his hands, Erik stood, resettled Charles in his arms, and carried him back out to put on his sleep-pants and go to bed.

It was only when Erik helped him into bed that Charles thought to ask, “Why are you do this?”

But Erik just turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Charles sighed, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

~

The next two days passed as if they were a dream to Erik. He had breakfast with Charles, who seemed to always eat with the children, and then herded his kindergartners to their classroom. There would be meditation, then practice with their powers, then airplane rides. There was reading and basic math and naptime.  Most of it was just play, though. And… Erik enjoyed it.

He knew it couldn’t last. Eventually someone was going to let slip who he really was. He wasn’t just “the man who helped rebuild the school”, he was also Magneto, murderer, mutant leader, the man who had nightmares about his family dying and then coming back to life to accuse him of not protecting them. These small children, the ones who were warming to him so quickly--they hadn’t even been born when he’d killed Shaw and so deeply changed his only friend’s life.

But while it lasted, he decided to enjoy it.

The weekend came. He didn’t know what to do with himself after breakfast (which was sparsely populated; most kids slept in), so he went to the library.

The library was in a completely different room, now; actually two rooms joined together, so that more shelves and more books could be added. Erik wandered through it, looking at the books, running his fingertips along the spines of volumes he recognized. He remembered reading this one, while they were in training. He remembered picking up this other, and deciding it wasn’t for him. He remembered reading texts on biology, on genetics, only understanding one word in three, but determined to figure out how Charles’ mind worked.

He’d never figured it out.

He sighed and turned a corner--and there, in the middle of a clear area full of chairs, was a table set up with chess on it.

His throat went tight.

How many times had they played chess and drunk toasts? How long had they sat at that table, discussing their differences? He didn’t know. But looking at the board… he’d taught Magda to play, and she’d beaten him four times out of five. Nina used to watch, quietly, apparently fascinated. Erik had been looking forward to teaching her, but there had never been time.

“If I were her,” he murmured, “What would I play first?”

He hesitated, then walked to the board. If he were Magda… he would move this pawn. If he were Charles, he’d move the knight. And if he were Magda, he would counter like this. And if he were Charles…

He played a whole game by himself, switching between Magda and Charles, until the former won. Then he reset the board and walked away.

He picked up “Moby Dick” for no reason and went to his suite. He stretched out on the couch in the outer room and read for a while, until he got too bored and had to put it down. Setting the book aside, he wandered into his bedroom and looked out the window.

The younger children were playing on the lawn, while the older kids strolled or sat under trees. As he watched, Charles appeared in his line of sight, alongside one of the other students. Erik wondered idly if Charles would be free for chess later.

Probably not. He had a school to run. He probably had all kinds of work waiting for him. But this was the weekend. Surely even Charles would take a break on the weekend.

Erik resolved to ask Charles at lunch.

~

“I want a rematch.”

Charles paused with his forkful of spaghetti halfway into his mouth, staring up at Erik, who seemed to be rather uncomfortable with the way everyone was looking at him, but did not back down.

“Pardon?” Charles asked, setting down his fork.

“You beat me last time we played chess,” Erik reminded him, and Charles blinked. _He_ didn’t even remember that. “So I want a rematch.”

Charles fought a smirk. “Are you sure? Have you been practicing?”

Erik actually scowled a little. “You doubt my commitment?”

“Not at all. Lunch first, though. Sit.”

Erik came around the end of the table and sat next to him.

After lunch, Charles and Erik headed for the library. It was mostly empty, except for some preteens giggling in a corner. They hushed when they saw who had entered, but when Charles and Erik politely ignored them, they began whispering again.

Erik moved one chair out of the way so Charles could sit behind the white pieces, and Erik took the black.

Charles looked at the board for a moment. Then he made a move, thinking he knew exactly how Erik would counter, and then he could move the bishop, and then Erik would--

Except Erik did _not_ follow the patterns Charles expected to see. He went in every direction, with seemingly no plan in mind, and Charles began to frown while Erik began to smirk.

But there, an opening. Charles took it. Erik lost his smirk. Then it became a heated battle, and Charles was so close, so close to winning--

“Checkmate.”

“Damn!” Charles blurted, and Erik threw back his head and laughed.

After that was another match, and another, and another. Charles lost count of who won and who lost. They started talking about Erik’s first few days as they played. He told Charles that he didn’t mind giving airplane rides, and that he liked minding the children. Charles wondered how long it had been since he’d been able to say he liked anything without it being taken away. Charles told him that, once the novelty wore off, he wouldn’t have to give _quite_ so many rides.

Erik asked about the school. Charles was happy to brag. Their students were excelling in every way, and the local high and technical schools were getting suspicious as to where these “homeschool” kids were getting their educations. Everyone was learning to control their powers to such an extent that, if they didn’t practice them daily, you’d think they were human--which was good, considering the views humanity currently had on mutantkind. One day, they’d be able to use them without humans attempting to catch and hurt them.

Charles expected Erik to launch into his usual “make humans fear us as we feared them” speech, which Charles would then attempt to refute--but he didn’t. He remained silent, gazing at Charles with the oddest expression. Taking this as a signal to continue, Charles told him the rest; about finding mutant teachers, about teaching the children self-sufficiency, about how Hank had had the idea of expanding the greenhouse into a vegetable and fruit garden rather than just flowers, having his engineering students help as part of a school project. Charles told Erik that the younger children especially loved the greenhouse in the winter months.

“Do you have any children who can talk to animals?” Erik asked suddenly, and there was the faintest of wistful looks on his face.

“Chrissie could, but she graduated last year,” Charles answered, frowning just a little. “Michael can talk to cats, but that’s all. Of course, he can also turn into a cat, so that might be part of it.”

Erik nodded, and did not explain.

Charles ran out of things to talk about. They sat in silence, still playing, until suddenly Peter was there and taking off his goggles. Erik jumped, but Charles just smiled.

“Yes, Peter?”

“Mystique said if you don’t come down for dinner she’s sending Beast,” Peter told Charles, carefully not looking at Erik. Charles sighed and took Erik’s king, making the other throw him an offended look.

“Thank you, Peter, we’ll be right there.”

Peter nodded, shot an unreadable glance at Erik as he pulled down his goggles again, and was off.

“Was that the kid who got me out of--” Erik cut himself off, but Charles knew what he was going to finish with.

“Yes,” he answered. “He is also one of the X-Men. He was visiting his mother and sisters.”

Erik nodded, and reset his side of the board. Charles followed his example. Then Erik stood, and walked with Charles to the lift.

When they reached the dining room, Charles smiled benignly as eyes zeroed in on him and Erik. Most everyone only spared them a glance, but Hank, Raven, and the X-Men stared. This made some others take second glances, too, surprised and confused as to what could be wrong. So the professor and the new teaching assistant knew each other, so what?

Charles wheeled to his usual place, and Erik took his usual place beside him. Everyone turned back to their plates.

Dinner was comfortable for Charles, but he could feel a growing tension in Erik. Charles’ fork started to vibrate; he sent Erik a memory of eating dinner with his friends at Oxford in a dim, smoky pub, how they had laughed at everything once they’d had some alcohol in them. He calmed down a little, and the silverware stilled.

It was after dinner, when everyone was drifting away for evening activities, that Hank approached.

Charles folded his hands in his lap and waited patiently for Hank to explain his anger towards Erik. There was really no call for it. Erik had apologized, in his own silent way, and that was that.

Hank crossed his arms over his chest, standing in front of them and therefore across the table. He glared between them, taking in Erik’s wary look and Charles’ serene expression. Then he told Erik tightly, “I said stay away.”

“I _can_ take care of myself, Hank,” Charles reminded him coolly. Hank flushed.

“That’s not what I--I meant--” he stammered, and Charles cut him off with a shake of his head.

“I don’t know what your issue is, but I suggest you work through it on your own and away from the students, because you cannot convince me you’re not muttering and scowling during classes.”

Hank’s flush intensified, and he put on his most mulish expression, the one he used when he was wrong, knew it, and was determined to prove otherwise. Charles just raised his eyebrow. Twenty-plus years of dealing with Hank had taught him how best to make him admit he was acting a little over-protective again (and really, Charles was eight years older than him, why should he need protecting? Well, besides the occasional longing for that serum).

Erik watched, seemingly fascinated; but the silverware was hovering scant centimeters off the table again.

“He’s not safe,” Hank stated quietly.

“Why not?” Charles asked.

“Because--he’s--” Hank glanced around, and Charles did too. There were still people lingering, obviously trying to listen in. Charles sent out a general message of _Please leave us_ and the lingerers all stood as one, some scurrying out, some plodding reluctantly, most somewhere in the middle.

Erik tried to stand too, but Charles sent a wave of soothing emotions and he remained in his seat.

“Whatever he was, he isn’t anymore,” Charles told Hank firmly. Turning to Erik, he asked, “Are you happy with the children?”

Erik blinked. Then his face shuttered into wariness. “Yes,” he answered shortly.

“And happiness is not so thick on the ground these days that anyone would give it up.”

“No,” Erik agreed softly, eyes darkening.

Hank looked startled and uncomfortable. Charles looked back up at him gravely.

“And there you have it,” Charles said simply.

Hank’s jaw worked, but he said nothing. Then he turned on his heel and marched out. Charles sighed through his nose and looked back to Erik, who was looking at him with a slight twist to his mouth.

“He’ll get over it,” Charles assured Erik. “He’s not as unreasonable as I am.”

Erik snorted, and the twist grew more pronounced. “As if you’ve ever been unreasonable,” he muttered.

“Are you forgetting that time when--”

“Alright, that was _one time_.” Erik’s thoughts spiked with pain, though his face remained tight and empty. “And--I wasn’t very reasonable either.”

Charles felt something curl up in his chest tightly, miserably. “What do you want to do now?”

“Today? I don’t know. I--”

“Mr. Erik! Mr. Erik!” A trio of small children tumbled through the door and walked very quickly to Erik, knowing not to run with Professor Xavier’s eye on them. “Mr. Erik, will you come play with us?”

Something soft and warm took over and transformed Erik’s face. It made the miserable thing in Charles’ chest uncurl. “Of course,” Erik answered, standing and letting two to the children immediately latch onto his hands, the third child skipping ahead of them. Charles chuckled and stacked his and Erik’s dirtied utensils and plates, carrying them to the plastic tubs that waited on a double trolley for the older children on kitchen duty to take care of. As soon as he wheeled out of the dining room, four students rushed in, pretending they hadn’t been loitering. He smiled to himself and headed for his office.

~

Erik did _not_ cry while he played with the youngest children. Slowly, the first and second graders were warming up to him as well; when he joined the kindergartners in the biggest playroom, some of them stood guard, though they pretended to be playing. Erik didn’t mind. It was good the older children were so protective of the younger.

He was dragged to the room where the kindergartners all slept (at their age they weren’t split by gender) and helped Miss Johnson get them ready for bed and tuck them in. Georgina demanded Erik hold her hand while Miss Johnson read a book to the children. He did so.

When Miss Johnson finished reading, all the children were asleep. Erik tucked Georgina’s teddy in the little girl’s arms, wrapping her little fingers around the teddy’s arm instead of Erik’s hand. Then both adults quietly left.

“Do you have children?” Miss Johnson asked suddenly, as they climbed the stairs.

“Had,” Erik murmured, staring at each step instead of glaring at her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Erik didn’t reply.

She seemed surprised when he continued up the stairs instead of stopping on the teacher’s floor. “Overflow,” he explained, and she nodded, though she still seemed skeptical. But he kept walking.

He got to his floor just in time to see Charles unlocking his door. Again, he felt weirdly compelled to… to help?

“Erik, hello,” Charles greeted him sleepily with a small smile. “Did the children wear you out?”

“Not really,” he answered, though this was a complete lie. He wanted to fall down on his soft mattress and sleep. But not while Charles was still awake. He walked over and followed Charles into his suite.

Again, he helped Charles get ready for bed, because… because… well, he didn’t really know, but he knew he wanted to. It was while he was carrying Charles to the bathroom that the other asked, “Why are you doing this?” Not accusatory, just… curious. Erik declined to answer.

_I could just look, you know._

_But I didn’t give you permission._

Charles huffed a small laugh and answered, _You’re right._

Erik pressed an absentminded kiss to Charles’ head. Then he realized what he’d done, and froze.

_I didn’t mean that._

_I know,_ Charles replied softly.

Erik was silent as he tucked Charles in, then fled to his own room. Once there, he let his roiling emotions bubble up and fill his mind with a kind of panic he’d thought himself immune to. It felt… childish. At least he hadn’t kissed Charles on the lips, so that was alright, wasn’t it?

But what if he lost control one day? What if the next time he saw those ruddy lips smile he pressed his own to them? Was Charles a good kisser?

No, no, no, no, no. He sat down on the bed, picked up his pillow, pressed his face into it, and tried to control the confusion. He wasn’t a child anymore, he’d kissed plenty of people--well, seven counted as plenty, didn’t it?--and he would _not_ break down over this small slipup. It was so small. It didn’t count. It did not count.

He took a deep breath and laid down on his back, feeling calmer. It didn’t count, and surely Charles would have forgotten in the morning. Yes. Charles will have forgotten. It’s alright, then. Everything is alright. Alles ist gut.


	4. Chapter 4

Charles woke up in the middle of the night because he could feel Erik having a bad dream.

It wasn’t a nightmare, persay. It wasn’t that urgent. But he was uncomfortable, unhappy, and for some reason Charles was extremely sensitive tonight. No, he knew the reason; he was sensitive, but only to Erik, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it had all been. How Charles hadn’t felt self-conscious in the slightest with Erik, though with Hank he was always a little uncomfortable, even after all these years. How nice it had been to feel that spike of golden affection.

How wonderful it had felt to be kissed, even if it wasn’t on the lips.

He quietly got into his wheelchair and made his way to the hall, then down it to Erik’s room. He hadn’t set a wheel in here at all, even though Erik had been through Charles’ rooms often enough. Charles hesitated to knock, and instead reached out with his mind.

_ Erik? Erik, can you hear me? _

No reply, mentally or out loud. Charles waited, feeling out just the edges of the bad dream. They involved a child…

And then suddenly fear and despair flared, and the dream became a nightmare, and Charles didn’t bother knocking. He opened the door (unlocked, strangely) and slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him. Then he wheeled across the outer room and tried the knob on the bedroom door. It  _ was _ locked. He frowned; he’d forgotten his master-key, and he couldn’t pick locks.

Suddenly the lock clicked and the door slammed open. Charles jumped as much as he could, and peered into the darkened room.

Erik was curled up very tightly in the middle of the bed, shivering. Slowly, Charles wheeled to him, and parked beside his bed. Levering himself up (Erik’s bed was much taller than Charles’), he stroked Erik’s hair ever so gently. His face was contorted in rage and despair, like a man with nothing to lose who marches out to war.

Charles rested two fingertips against Erik’s temple, softly.

His dream was chaos.

It flickered rapidly between a dense forest and a concentration camp, Erik flickering between himself as a child and himself as an adult. He knelt on the ground, holding his head in his hands, small pieces of flashing metal whirling around him so fast they were nothing more than silver blurs. Charles, as nothing more than an observer, could not move, even his dream-watcher self feeling sick and frightened by the pure hate and fear swirling through the air like mist, settling over everything like snow--no, like ash.

Charles would have been sick right there, if he’d been as he was before he’d met Erik. Now he simply watched numbly.

Ghosts flashed and flickered around Erik. Nazis. Polish police. American police. Russian and American navy. People in everyday clothes. Everyone who’d ever wronged him, flowing around, past, bumping off his swirling metal shield when they tried to go through. They were talking, saying horrible things, and Charles swayed, revolted by the things he heard.

_ Oh Erik… _ he whispered, heart breaking for his dearest friend.

The changing Erik looked up sharply, eyes haunted, tears streaming down his face. He flickered between ages and Charles just wanted to hug him, just hold him, until the nightmare passed and he could sleep peacefully--

“It’s a dream, isn’t it?” Erik asked, his voice ragged from suppressing screams.

_ Yes. _

Erik sighed and closed his eyes, head dropping into his hands again. Slowly, everything faded, and Erik stopped flickering, until he was just his younger self, and all around them was soft grey light.

“Are you a dream?” Erik asked wistfully.

_ No, my friend, I am not a dream. I’m sitting next to you. _

“Can I touch you?”

Charles blinked.  _ I… I think so. _

And little Erik flung himself forward and wrapped his arms around Charles’ waist. He was tall for a child, so the top of his head reached Charles’ collarbone, and strong; if Charles had been in his living body, he would have wheezed and asked him to stop squeezing his lungs quite so tightly. But he was a psychic projection in Erik’s dream, and so he did not breathe and felt no pain.

“Where’s your heartbeat?” Erik asked anxiously, looking up at Charles. “You’re so cold.”

Charles took the chance to run his fingers through Erik’s hair.  _ I’m just a projection right now. _

“You have hair.”

_ Always with the hair,  _ he sighed.

“Sorry.”

_ It’s alright. _

They stood there in the soft light until Erik said, “I’d like to wake up now.”

Charles nodded and closed his eyes. With the gentlest mental push, he and Erik flew upwards into wakefulness.

Charles blinked his eyes open and saw that Erik was looking up at him with the strangest look on his face. “Yes?” Charles asked softly.

“You need a wig or something,” Erik grumbled, and that was so not what Charles was expecting that he laughed, startled Erik.

“I do  _ not _ ,” he chuckled, pushing Erik’s shoulder gently. “Really, what is this obsession with my hair?”

Erik stared up at him. Then he sat up, grabbed Charles around the waist (the telepath squeaked in surprise), and dragged him across the bedspread to sit in Erik’s lap. Then Erik wrapped his arms tightly around Charles, startling another squeak out of him.

“What’re you--”

Erik pressed his cheek to Charles’ shoulder, forehead resting lightly against his neck. Charles tried not to listen in on his thoughts, but it was hard, when Erik was nearly shouting how scared he still was. So Charles focused on being calm and relaxed, a soothing presence. Even though Erik wasn’t a telepath, he might sense it, being so open after such a dream.

He probably did, because he sighed deeply, and the fear began to melt away slowly, like snow in April. Charles put his hand over Erik’s and gave a gentle squeeze.

“It’s alright now,” Charles murmured. “You’re safe here.”

Erik nodded carefully, but did not let go of Charles.

The sun’s first soft grey glow filled the room, surrounding them. Charles tried to carefully push Erik’s arms away, but that just made him tighten them around Charles. Charles smiled, reluctantly, and settled a little more comfortably.

At five, Erik sighed and loosened his hold on Charles. “Do you need to go back to your room now?” he mumbled.

“Yes.” Charles squeezed his hand again and did not squeak as Erik picked him up just enough to slide out of bed and set Charles back in his chair. Of course he followed Charles out, too, padding quietly down the hall with bare feet while Charles’ chair made no noise at all.

Erik helped him prepare for his morning bathroom routine, then retreated to the outer room. Charles frowned a little, but did not ask. Instead he went through his routine, humming tunelessly, and when he was finished… oh what the hell, why not. He sent to Erik,  _ Help me get dressed? _

Erik was surprised, but did not question the request, stepping into Charles’ room and helping him dress for the day. He barely had time to run to his own rooms and prepare for the day, but he didn’t complain. Not that Charles really expected him to. He was not one to complain, even in his own head, which was rare. And he seemed to want to do these things for Charles, which was quite a mystery, because he’d never seemed like the kind of man to give help to those who didn’t need it.

Charles was so deep in thought that he didn’t really notice where he was until he was wheeling out of the lift and Peter was suddenly beside him.

“Sooo,” Peter said, shifting from foot to foot.

Charles raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t like Peter to be this fidgety. Usually he played it cool, tried to stay aloof of the chattering “kids” (and never mind that he was barely out of childhood himself), but today he seemed extraordinarily restless. His mind was an endless flurry, too chaotic to get a good look at. Goodness, not even Kurt, with his flashing thoughts, was this hard to read. “What’s the matter? Did something happen at home?”

Peter shook his head. “No, it’s just… why is he here?” he blurted.

Now both of Charles’ eyebrows rose. “No one told you?” Peter shook his head. “He’s the new teaching assistant for the kindergartners.”

Peter suddenly looked horrified. It would have been funny, if it weren’t concerning. “He’s  _ staying _ ?!” he yelped, drawing curious looks from those also in this hall.

“For as long as he wishes, yes,” Charles told him, frowning slightly. “I thought you’d be happy. Now you’ll have adequate time to think up a way to tell him.”

Peter was already shaking his head, though, hard. “Nuh-uh. Not yet. I talked to mom, and she said I don’t have to until I want to. Of course, we didn’t know he’d be  _ here _ and  _ staying _ ,” he muttered.

Charles sighed. “Alright. It’s your choice. But I recommend you do.”

“Remember what happened  _ last _ time you recommended I do something?”

“You learned a valuable lesson,” Charles reminded him primly, and smiled as Peter rolled his eyes. “Well, you did. Will you be helping Mr. Kleppinger with Sylvia and Dan?”

Peter nodded. “Man, those kids think even faster than  _ me _ sometimes,” he commented, smiling a little.

Charles smiled wryly. It was hard to keep up with Sylvia’s racing thoughts, and Dan’s anxiety was always fast to flare, but they’d feel better with Peter there. He was the only one who could understand what either of them were saying when they started speaking too fast again. Also he just had a knack with children, probably due to his own little sister, though he vehemently denied it.

Maybe it ran in the family.

Peter sauntered along beside Charles as they approached the dining room. This wasn’t the room Charles and Raven had dined in when they were younger; it was actually the room Charles’ parents had called the ballroom and what Charles and Raven had called the cartwheel practice arena. It was the only one big enough to hold all of the children and most of the teachers. The cartwheel practice arena was now outside, with most of the other gym activities.

Peter took the seat to Charles’ left, leaving the seat on his right to Erik, who entered only a few minutes later. This morning was scrambled eggs and pancakes; everyone ate quickly, because while Greg, Hailie, and Matt had useful kitchen skills, there was no way to keep cold eggs from being a little rubbery. Also, it was just a good day. Charles could feel that, in most of his students, and it made him relax. Nobody was on the edge of a breakdown. No one was nursing a hurt or planning a feud. Everyone seemed happy to be here. Gently, he reached out and brushed against all these bright minds; a general air of contentment held the morning, and even the students and teachers working the kitchen chores this morning were reasonably relaxed.

It was Sunday. Charles had a little more grading to do, then some administrative work, and then he could spend all afternoon doing whatever he wanted. Kurt had started a sort of jury-rigged Sunday school under the trees outside, where he read the Bible and talked about it with other students, usually the younger ones. Charles had quietly contacted the local churches, who had gladly sent activities and ideas for games. Those not interested would probably play or laze about, although a few students  had begged and pled and pleaded until Charles gave them permission to go see a movie. He was going to send one of the teachers with them as chaperone, unless more wanted to go, as well. Spring Break was coming soon, and everyone could feel the buzzing of it under their skins.

He came back to himself when Erik touched his shoulder. “Chess?” Erik murmured.

Charles shook his head regretfully. “Work,” he explained.

Erik frowned slightly, but nodded.

Then suddenly a flood of kindergartners attacked, a few brave souls actually climbing into Charles and Erik’s laps, squealing and babbling and demanding that somebody play with them. Erik’s frown melted away, and he smiled slightly. “Alright,” he told the children, “We can go play.”

“HOORAY!” the children shouted. Charles laughed and Erik’s smile grew.

Charles escaped and holed himself up in his office, and spent time grading papers and making sure everyone was safe as they did their homework, played, hung out, or drove into town, or whatever else it was kids did these days. It had been far too long. Then again, he and Raven had never done much with their free time besides read, practice their powers, and work on their gymnastics.

Well.  _ He’d _ read,  _ she’d _ worked on gymnastics. Ever the energetic one, his little sister. Not that she ever let him call her that anymore, or let anyone know.

Enough introspection. He got to work on grading. He so wanted to be a proper university professor… but that dream had to wait.

When he was done with that, he took a short break, pushing away from his desk with a sigh and going to the window. From here he could see most of the back lawn, and he smiled to see children running or strolling or sitting or lying through and on the green grass. There was a game of football at the bottom of the slight slope. He could see a corner of the basketball court; there was a game going there, too. He looked at the sun on the grass, on the trees, on the water of the pond, and felt a sudden ache, that he hadn’t felt since his first (and last) semester of boarding school. He didn’t even know what it was, but he knew it meant  _ something _ .

Erik walked past, trailing children, one little girl sitting on his shoulders. The children all waved at Charles gleefully; he smiled and waved back, feeling the ache even more acutely. Erik waved too, face relaxed, mind clear and calm. 

Charles opened his window a little, letting the shrieks, shouts, and laughter seep in with a cool breeze, and returned to his desk.

“Prof?”

He looked up and smiled. “Peter. How are you?”

Peter sidled in and closed the door, glancing at the open window dubiously. “I’m fine,” he muttered, slouching over to a seat. Then he blurted, “How should I say it?”

Charles blinked. “Peter, that’s really up to y--”

“Up to  _ me _ ? No way, man. I can’t even ask out a girl properly, how do I tell a guy who advocated for genocide that I’m his  _ kid _ ?”

Charles winced. He wasn’t sure why it still hurt, remembering Erik’s past. “He’s not the same man who said that,” he protested, a little weakly.

Peter leveled a glare at him. “But he said it,” he insisted frankly. “He almost  _ did _ it.”

Charles looked down, rolling his pen between his fingers. “Peter, I don’t think I can help,” he said softly. “Just… try to give him a chance.”

The younger man snorted. “Right. A chance. Like you almost didn’t do.”

Keep breathing, Charles. “Yes.”

Peter sighed deeply and sank down in his chair. “It’s just--I’m scared of him, okay?” he whispered, studiously staring at the floor. “I don’t  _ want _ to be his son. But I kind of do. You know?”

“I know,” Charles replied, softer still. Peter was one of those people who shouted their thoughts into the void carelessly. Charles had attempted to correct this, but Peter had refused his help. Charles had grown better at adjusting his mental hearing, so now Peter wasn’t so loud to him; but it wasn’t like he could ignore the spikes of panic whenever Peter saw Erik. Nor could he ignore the low, hesitant, tugging longing. Peter wanted a father. He really did. He just didn’t want it to be Erik.

“I wish you were my dad.”

Charles looked up, startled. Peter was still staring at the floor. “Why?” Charles asked, bewildered.

“Because it would just be easier,” Peter answered, scowling slightly. “You’re a good guy. Yeah, I don’t agree with you, but you’re not… you’re not…”

Charles sighed silently. He couldn’t deny he’d always wanted to be called “dad” by  _ someone _ , but not Peter. Erik would welcome a child, though. Even if he never got to watch him grow, never got to raise him, he’d welcome a blood-bond. Wouldn’t he?

~

By lunchtime, Erik was ready for a nap. His sleep had not been good last night, and playing with the children still sapped his energy enormously and he wasn’t sure why. Well, he did know; he was trying so hard to stave off memories, that there was always a tense part of him, a part fighting to keep him from losing it and crying or growing angry in front of the children.

The memory of that nightmare hadn’t helped.

But he kept himself calm with the help of the memory of Charles in his head. With the memory of him laughing.

There was something wrong with Erik and he didn’t know what it was.

But lunch was quiet and sparsely populated. Not even Charles was there. Erik was just about to go look for him when Hank and Raven approached. Unconsciously, he tensed, but he stood anyway and waited for them to speak.

“Can we talk to you for a second?” Raven asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she and Hank stopped a few feet away from Erik.

“Yes, of course,” he answered calmly, even though he could feel the metal around him most acutely. It was always like this when he was nervous. Then again, what did he have to be nervous for? He’d done no harm. He’d caused no alarm. He was on his best behavior. And Charles would back him up, he knew he would. So really, there was nothing to be nervous about, except maybe that they’d tell him he wasn’t welcome and that they were going to forcibly kick him out.

They wouldn’t do that, though, would they?

Raven beckoned and walked towards the door. Erik followed, one cautious eye on Hank, who glared and fell in behind him. The children seemed to sense that something was off, because they stayed out of the way, some staring with wide, confused eyes.

Raven led the way to an unused room and stepped inside. Erik entered and immediately searched for anything metal. Everyone always had some piece of metal on them, even if it was just the eyelets on their shoes. But no, there was no one. Raven stopped in the middle of the room and crossed her arms again.

“What are you doing here.” It barely counted as a question.

Erik shrugged one shoulder. He didn’t quite know himself. “I wanted to give it another shot, I suppose,” he answered her.

Raven raised both eyebrows. “A shot?” she repeated. “A shot at what?”

“Peace.”

Hank snorted behind him. Erik tensed, but resisted the urge to turn and give Hank a piece of his mind.

Raven’s eyebrows rose further. “So you came here because you decided to try and be peaceful,” she laid out, “And now you’re doing things like helping Charles and playing chess with him.”

“Is that against the rules?”

Raven frowned. “No, of course not, it’s just… not you.”

Erik’s lips thinned. “Aren’t people allowed to change their minds?” he asked, still polite. The war in his head was growing thicker, anger misting everything, even that little patch of grass and roses that he’d clung to so desperately. He could still feel Charles’ memories, happiness and light, but they were growing more and more distant. Maybe he hadn’t changed after all.

Raven was not privy to his innermost thoughts, so she couldn’t see his sudden doubt. All she saw was that he was angry and controlling it well. “They are,” she said slowly, eyeing him warily. “But people like you… you usually don’t.”

He could feel every scrap of magnetic metal in the room begin to buzz with potential power; not enough to draw attention, but enough that he could feel it. His fingers twitched, and he clenched them into fists. “People like me?”

“Extremists.”

“I am not an extremist.”

“Yes you are,” Hank muttered from behind him. Erik closed his eyes and forced down the anger in his throat.

“Wanting to protect our kind is not extremist behavior,” he replied, opening his eyes and seeing that Raven had backed away several steps, looking even warier. He did not move. He stayed planted right where he was, because that way he could focus on controlling himself. It had been so long since his last fight… he’d been actively avoiding them, just like he had when he lived with Magda, and instead of feeling at peace like he had with her, he felt stretched thin and broken.

_ Erik? _

_ Charles. _

_ Erik, are you alright? _

His honest worry made the anger break. Erik looked down, staring at the floor.  _ No. _

He felt a wash of comforting feelings, of soft memories and thoughts, and the anger abated.  _ Do I have to come find you? _

_ No. I’ll come to you. _

He turned on his heel, and found that Hank was leaning against the door. The younger man glared at him fiercely.

“Please move,” Erik said, and made the door open. Hank yelped and nearly fell, shoved by the door; and a pack of youngsters that had been listening at the cracks scattered.

Erik’s gut went cold and heavy. Slowly, he walked out of the room and looked both ways down the hall. None of the eavesdroppers had lingered. He should have known, should have guessed, should have felt them there. But he hadn’t. And now they were probably spreading rumors and then the adults would find out and then--

He forced himself to at least look calm, and strode quickly to Charles’ office.

~

Peter had taken his leave. Charles supposed that was a good thing, because when Erik entered Charles’ office, his emotions were a roiling mess. Quietly but firmly, Erik closed and locked the door. Then he strode forward, circled the desk, and sat abruptly on the floor, leaning his head on the wheelchair’s armrest. Charles rested his hand on Erik’s shoulder.

“What happened?” he asked Erik gently.

“Your damn sister and her pet beast,” Erik muttered.

Charles bit back a stern retort. Erik was not a student needing chastening. He was shaken about something, and still angry, and apparently wanted to hide for a moment. Maybe he just wanted some time to get himself under control again. He’d been doing so well.

“The children adore you, by the way,” Charles heard himself say. “Not just the littlest ones, either. I hear the first and second graders talking about how much fun you are. And some of the other kids have crushes on you.”

“I don’t even talk to anyone besides you, Miss Johnson, and the little ones,” Erik muttered. “And they won’t like me when they find out.”

“Find out what?”

“...Eavesdroppers. While Raven was questioning me. They’ll be putting two and two together.” He shivered, and Charles’ hand tightened slightly on his shoulder. “They’ll find out who I am before long.”

Charles cast his mind over those in the building. Yes, there were children thinking hard about what they’d overheard, but none of them could make heads nor tails of any of it. Except, of course, Scott and Ororo. Scott had been the first to press his ear to the door. Others had followed quickly, including Ororo, who was at least a little guilty. None of the others seemed to be. 

“They won’t,” Charles told Erik confidently. “They don’t really understand what you were talking about.”

“You just looked at them, didn’t you.”

“Just an overview. Not many have mastered the art of being quiet in their own heads.” Charles sighed, moving his hand without really thinking to cup Erik’s jaw gently. “Honestly, you’d think they’d  _ want _ to learn, knowing someone like me can hear them so easily. Children are so secretive around adults sometimes. Then again, adults are quite secretive around children most of the time.” 

He wasn’t really expecting an answer, musing out loud, but Erik murmured, “Sometimes it’s for their own good.”

“Yes, but when does a little white lie become an ugly series of bigger and bigger secrets?” Charles sighed. “I’m being a hypocrite again. Damn.”

Erik snorted. “You are the least hypocritical person I know,” he muttered.

Charles’ thumb brushed against Erik’s cheek. “I’m not, but thank you.”

They sat in silence for a while, Charles gazing thoughtfully down at the top of Erik’s head. Erik calmed, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You’re sure they don’t know?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright.” He lifted a hand to hold Charles’ wrist, turned his head slightly, and pressed the faintest of kisses to Charles’ palm. Then he froze. “...I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Charles replied softly, keeping the melancholy out of his voice with effort. He wanted Erik to mean it. He wanted him to kiss Charles on purpose, with intent. But he wasn’t going to. Maybe that kiss when they were young had scared him off.

Erik rose to his knees without letting go of Charles’ wrist and turned, so that his arm was around Erik’s neck. “I do mean this, though,” Erik said, and kissed Charles’ cheek.

Charles had not blushed since he was seventeen, but he did now, a sudden flush that filled his cheeks and neck and ears. Which was silly, because he should be used to cheek-kisses. He got them all the time from children. Even Raven occasionally gave him pecks on the cheek or forehead.

But this was vastly different, and he felt suddenly extremely shy. “Um,” he said.

Erik gave a tiny, crooked smile. “Thank you, Charles,” he murmured, and stood and left.

Charles stared after him dumbly, eyes wide, and tried not to grin.

He didn’t get any work done after that. Instead he broke out his newest medical texts and read them with only half his attention (which was enough to absorb it, but still). He felt like he was twenty-four again, like he had after that first kiss. Indestructible, untouchable, king of the universe.

And then Raven had ruined that moment by walking in before they could try again, just as she ruined this moment by knocking on the door and opening it without asking. Charles still smiled at her, feeling charitable and altruistic. “Hello, Raven.”

“Hi,” she said, closing the door behind her. Then she strode over and leaned on the edge of his desk with both hands. “He came and talked to you, didn’t he.”

“Who?” he asked.

“Erik, of course.”

“Oh. Yes, he did. We did. It was all above-board, you know.” He smiled again, winningly. “He still doesn’t believe he’s safe here, but I think I’m making headway.”

Raven raised an eyebrow. “Safe.”

“Yes.”

“You want  _ him _ to be safe?

“Yes.”

“What about the kids?”

“They’re safe too.”

“How do you know?”

Charles sighed. “They have all of us to keep them safe. And Erik would do anything to protect them.” If not for their own sakes, then for Charles’. He hoped.

Raven came around the desk and hugged him. He hugged back, thoroughly enjoying that he was getting so much affection today. He hadn’t realized how much he depended on intimacy until he was forced to stop his pub-crawling, bar-hopping ways. Even before that, though, it hadn’t been enough.

“Alright, who are you and what have you done with Miss Darkholme?”

Charles laughed a little while Raven turned and glared at the child in the doorway. “Don’t you  _ dare _ ,” Raven threatened, without letting go of Charles.

Jennifer, their eldest student at age twenty (she was actually under Charles’ tutelage while she studied for her biophysics degree), raised her hands in a gesture of peace. “Sorry to barge in but the kids are attacking Mr. Lehnsherr and demanding he play with them. I think Jean and Scott are getting ready to scorch him.”

Raven straightened, and Charles stretched out his mind. Yes, there were the children, wrestling with Erik, and there were Jean and Scott, lurking and being suspicious of Erik. Erik’s mind was full of something warm and soft that made Charles smile. The war was slowing.

“Raven, could you fetch Jean and Scott for me?” he asked his sister mildly. “Hank too, and the others. I think it’s time we had a chat.”

~

After an early dinner, Erik carried two children, one on each hip. Both were asleep. The others were stumbling along in his wake, yawning and grumbling and generally being tuckered out. He felt very like a pied piper of sleepy children.

Miss Johnson was taking the night off, so he got the children bathed and clothed and tucked in on his own, and sang to them quietly while holding Georgina’s hand, and snuck out silently when they were asleep. Then he went to the library.

Instead of Charles, there was someone else slouched in the chair by the chess set. The grey hair was familiar… Oh yes, that Peter boy. Erik turned to leave--

“Hey.”

He turned back. “Hello?” he replied, half questioning.

The Peter boy wouldn’t look at him, toying with a pawn. “So the prof told me to tell you we gotta talk,” he blurted.

Erik frowned, but came over and sat in the chair opposite Peter. It felt strange, seeing a different person in Charles’ chair. He looked sullen, reluctant, very unhappy. Not at all like solemn or smiling Charles.

“We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Erik offered, because really, he couldn’t see why it mattered, why this boy would have to talk to  _ him _ . “I’m sure Charles--”

“You got kids?” Peter blurted.

Erik froze.

Time seemed to freeze as well, as he stared at the boy, who looked suddenly very scared. Vaguely, Erik remembered him saying,  _ “You know, my mom used to know a guy who could do that…” _

“Had a kid,” Erik said flatly. “A daughter. Nina. She’d be eleven this year.”

“A si--daughter, huh?” Peter replied, trying for nonchalant, only managing nervous. Now, with that slipup, Erik was certain.

“Yes. And apparently a son.”

Peter nodded meekly, and stared at the empty fireplace. Erik took a deep breath in and let it out very slowly.

“How long have you known?” he asked.

“Since that time you nearly killed the president.”

Erik’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing about that. Instead he said, “And no one thought to tell me?”

“The prof said  _ I _ had to do it.” Peter went quiet for a moment. Then he blurted, “It’s  _ weird _ , having a telepath in your head. I just told him he could have a look at what I did to break you out, and he said I was “shouting” about it.”

“Did he tell you to calm your mind?”

“Only about ten times,” Peter grumbled. “Said I was thinking fifty miles a second.”

Erik’s mouth wanted to quirk. “I think that was, knowing Charles, a vast understatement,” he informed the boy dryly. Peter stared at him. “Think about it. Your power is speed, yes? It’s only natural that your mind is as fast as your body. And Charles doesn’t like to admit when people are better than him when it comes to matters of the mind.” Erik waved to the board. “Do you play?”

Peter hesitated, then nodded. “One of the first things the prof taught me,” he explained, sitting up and replacing the pawn carefully. “He said I could be a master if I had the patience.”

“I wouldn’t doubt him on that if I were you,” Erik murmured, making his opening move. “What’s my next move?”

Peter stared at him again, and Erik frowned. “Go on. Guess my next move. Then counter it.”

“Um.” Peter turned his bewildered gaze to the board, his eyes roving over the pieces. Then, hesitantly, he moved a pawn. Erik guessed an attack that Charles was particularly fond of, and moved to counter it. Suddenly Peter grinned, and his next move was more sure. Erik smirked.

He lost, of course. Thoroughly trounced by his own son. He was extremely proud. And Peter looked very pleased with himself. Erik smiled in satisfaction, and Peter grinned back.

“So you’re not mad at me?” Peter asked, confidence renewed.

“No,” Erik answered, “I’m quite glad to have family again.”

And this time, he would not let them die. He would protect Peter--and Charles, and the children, and the school--until his dying breath.

He didn’t look too closely at why his sudden sense of “family” had expanded so greatly.

And he didn’t notice the grass and roses begin to spread.

~ _ ONE MONTH LATER _ ~

“May I?”

Erik nodded and laid down on the couch. Charles wheeled close and rested two fingers on Erik’s temple, dipping gently into his mindscape.

The clouds of anger and hate were thinner. There were even rents in them. The bombs continued to fall, but they were smaller, fewer, slower. The area of peace, where Erik’s good memories laid, was lit by filtered… sunlight? Heart-light? Whatever the term was, it was bright and beautiful and drew rainbows on the surfaces of the memories.

Charles smiled, noting the specks of green around the puddles of memory. Around a few memories (and these he knew would be the happiest) there were swathes of grass. Nettles and other weeds grew around the bad memories, but at least they were growing.

He walked to the edge and climbed the fence, which stayed the same height. He dodged bombs and missiles and shrapnel as he walked, and sooner than expected, he began to climb. Grass and daisies and tiny woodland flowers speckled the slopes--and when he got to the top of the rise, he gasped in delight.

The despair was still wide and aching and bile-inducing in its sadness, but around it, on the ridge, flowers bloomed. A wall of color separating anger and despair. And above, a strip of bluest sky.

Charles rose out of Erik’s mind and beamed at him. “You’re healing,” he said simply. “You’ll never be without the scars and the hate and the anger and the--the other things. But you’re healing.”

Erik picked up Charles’ hand and kissed it. “I know. Thank you.”

“It wasn’t me. It was the children. You know I have to make you take classes so you can be a teacher.”

Erik smiled slightly. “In the meantime I get to be daycare and damage control,” he said dryly.

Charles wove his fingers with Erik’s. “I’m afraid so, my friend.” The term had always held a measure of affection; but nowadays it always seemed to mean more. It made Erik’s eyes light up and his lips curl upwards tentatively.

It was too soon, still. The wounds needed time. But they could go slow. Charles had learnt patience; he could wait for his dearest love.

“Ewww, you’re being sappy again,” Peter drawled from the doorway, startling them both. Charles’ foster children (now numbering fourteen) had gathered around the door, peering in curiously. “C’mon, dad, someone knocked down the statue again and you’re the only one who can lift it.”

“I am not a birthday party magician,” Erik sighed, but stood anyway, letting go of Charles’ hand reluctantly. There was that spark of happiness, as there always was when Peter called him dad, and Charles smiled reflexively. He didn’t remember when Erik’s happiness had become more important than anything else, but it had happened, and now he must deal with the consequences. Not that there were many.

That was the beauty of the thing. Consequences seemed so small when you were newly in love. So trivial. You were too busy being amazed by the other person’s existence to care. And Charles was constantly amazed by Erik.

Love is such a funny thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please.... please do not end me....... I realize this has been cut very short but I have like four other Cherik projects which I want done before I get back to my gay spies. I beg of you, have mercy.
> 
> Also, thank you for reading!!!!!!!!
> 
> (Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness)


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